


The Blue Sofa

by LuminousGloom



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Lie Low At Lupin's, M/M, Romance, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-14 11:40:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuminousGloom/pseuds/LuminousGloom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following difficulty, darkness, and Azkaban, Remus and Sirius try to pick up the pieces</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They had got it when they’d first moved in together. One of the things Sirius had inherited from his uncle Alphard, the sofa was battered and cumbersome, ornately carved wood and watered silk, resting on four hefty lion’s paws.

Along with an assortment of other inherited items it formed part of their bizarre interior design made up of perfunctory student things, pieces of dandyish opulence and a few bits of contemporary Muggle. Once they’d moved it in, Sirius spent a good hour staring at it, prodding it here and there, and attacking it with various spells. In the end it emerged clean, slightly longer, its ancient woodwork repaired and the upholstery showing the original pattern again, entwined creepers on a darker ground.

‘What do you think!’ Sirius had presented the revamped sofa to Remus with a flourish, making him laugh. But Remus did like the new colour. Sirius had turned the fabric a peculiar shade, a sort of peacock blue.

 

To no-one’s great surprise, cohabitation suited them both.

With Sirius away doing his Auror training and Remus working what was beginning to turn into a succession of mind-numbing jobs, they saw much less of each other than they had at school, but could do what they liked when they were home together.

In his spare time Remus kept up a regime of learning and perfecting spells he deemed useful or interesting, a task he was unlikely to finish in his lifetime. He knew quite a bit of the Auror stuff as well, having studied the pile of required reading long before Sirius had even touched it. But when it came to practical training Sirius was often just too tired to coherently pass anything on. He would get back soaked, singed, or muddy, have a quick bath and then settle on the blue sofa with a plateful of dinner. They would lean into each other, squinting at the black and white muggle TV, or listening to records and drinking. It was strangely romantic, shudderingly domestic.

Of course there also were wild and raucous parties. Celebrations, too, weddings, and, amazingly, the birth of Prongs’ and Lily’s actual real and tiny baby. There were night watches, two-day benders, raised glasses of firewhisky as the dawn came up, gallows humour as the war dragged on. The two of them were determined, and unflinching, completing daring undercover work, attempting countless dangerous missions. They attended funerals, glad to be alive, afraid to lose anyone else, and then more funerals.

Months passed, and things turned darker. The Order kept losing members. And more and more often, duties kept the two of them apart. One of them would return home to a dank and unlit flat, only to find the other gone again, or passed out on the sofa. There was little time for talking, barely time for anything fun. They grew irritable, worn down by fatigue, and fear, and frustration. Hope, a steady and closely guarded flame up until now, was beginning to flicker. Any doubts were being sharpened by the climate of constant suspicion. Things were out of kilter. Nothing was quite right.

* * *

When it was all over, Remus somehow found himself back at the flat. People were with him, Kingsley and Moody, and Dumbledore, their voices blurry and distant. There was a woman as well, Molly Weasley? They constantly urged him to eat something, to drink. Eventually they left and he just sat, on the expanse of blue watered silk, staring at his hands, at the untouched plate and cup, at nothing.

When he came to, the physical pain was still immense, as if someone had cut out his insides. He found himself covered with a blanket, and the fire was lit. Kingsley Shacklebolt was staying over, for which Remus was profoundly grateful. He was just there, a benevolent presence in the background, in case Remus needed anything. As the days wore on, Remus was able to think clearly again, other people replaced Kingsley, a rota set up by Dumbledore, no doubt.

Remus decided to vacate the flat, to move somewhere else where every little thing wasn’t laden with memories.

His bed still smelled of Sirius, there was dog hair on the living room carpet. Sirius toothbrush, his clothes, his shoes. Remus was burning with grief and anger at the murder of his friends, but he also physically hurt with longing for his friend and lover, his unruly other half. He’d been shattered by the betrayal. There seemed to be enough evidence, but he refused to believe it. In his mind it made no sense, it couldn’t fit, not really.

And then, as soon as he felt certain, doubts started creeping in again. If pushed enough, Sirius could be reckless and stupid, he could have been tricked, he could have been compromised...

He started taking a simple perking potion. He went to funerals, he attended all the meetings Dumbledore requested.  
Snape came to see him, followed by a succession of other people, all wanting to talk about their loss. It felt good to remember James and Lily, and Peter, but things got awkward when it came to Sirius. Some of them only knew him as James’ closest friend, no inkling of his and Remus’ relationship. They would lay into Sirius relentlessly, dissect his despicable character, list the atrocities committed by that notorious Black family. Why had he and James even been such friends? A loose cannon, unbearably vain, apparently entangled in all sorts of unsavoury activities.

Remus said very little then. Sometimes it vaguely amused him to remember himself and Sirius shagging in the very spot these guests were sitting, notably the blue sofa out of which they’d always got a lot of use. In fact they’d been so indiscriminate in their choice of shagging locations, that James would eventually only ever apparate to their front door anymore and then announce his presence loudly.

When Elsie Purfleet postulated that Sirius really was ‘a victim of his family and his terrible upbringing’, Remus laughed. He buried his face in his hands and laughed, or sobbed. The room looked at him in astonishment, and Kingsley encouraged the guests to leave more or less rapidly.

‘Sirius never was a victim of anything.’ Remus explained later. ‘Least of all his family. He made sure they’d no longer have any hold over him when he was only sixteen. He - he’s always known what he wanted, and how to get it...’ his voice trailed off. This was the most damning thing of all. Might Sirius really have wanted this scenario all along? It still seemed incredible. The facts were there. One way or another he would have to get used to them.

At his first, silent sob Kingsley gathered him into a bear hug, and Remus cried properly for the first time. There was so much of it, a bottomless pit of despair. When his breath finally calmed he felt acutely embarrassed. Kingsley sat him down and poured them some firewhisky.

‘You have lost more than any one person should,’ Kingsley said, settling down opposite Remus. ‘But you are strong, Remus, much stronger than you think now. I’m so glad we still have you in our ranks. Anyone else would have fallen to pieces.’

‘I am in pieces.’

‘Yes, but you will mend. As it is, you've overcome greater adversity than most. Remember that we need you, and more than anything, little Harry will need you.’

‘I am too tired, Kingsley.’

Kingsley talked to him at length about his apparent youth and supposed strength, about taking one step at a time, about much laughter and love still awaiting him in the future. Remus didn’t believe any of it, and focused on getting drunk.

* * *

He put the contents of the flat into storage, and escaped to see the world. First Europe, picking up casual work here and there, then he journeyed to the great wizarding sites of the Orient. A summer spent in North America was followed by many months exploring the Central Asian regions of the Soviet Union. He sent the occasional report and bits of information back to Dumbledore, and made new and interesting friends. He learned an extraordinary amount during his years in Africa, then moved on to Mongolia and China. Eventually, after a stint living in Japan, he had to return to Britain.

He didn’t mean to stay, just attend his great-aunt Emmeline’s funeral and take off again. But she had left him a house, an old seaside cottage down in the West Country. There were her old Muggle things to go through, and paperwork to sort out. Owls kept coming, old friends asking to see him.  
Remus decided to send for the small packing case he’d been storing in London, and once it had unpacked itself it was like stepping back in time, every item of furniture precisely as it had been all those years ago. Even a forgotten mug still sat on a shelf, its contents turned to dust. He transfigured some chairs, tables and bookcases to fit the new space, but he didn’t touch the old blue sofa, he just directed it to the nearest wall.

Then he began to make his rounds. It was wonderful catching up with Kingsley, Alastor, Hestia, and the Weasleys. Talk centred around their recent adventures or new additions to their families. They barely touched on the now distant past, it didn’t feel right. Naturally, he did want to know all about Harry, and especially Molly was exuberant in his praise until Arthur managed to reign her in a little.

 

One night, Dumbledore came for supper and brought Hagrid. The half giant barely fit into the small living room, Remus worried about the meagre amounts of food he had in the house. But as usual, Albus wasn’t there for the ostensible reasons given. While they demolished the chervil soup and roast chicken, Albus politely enquired into Remus’ well-being, the cottage, and Remus’ immediate plans. He then let Hagrid hold forth about things at Hogwarts, and especially about Harry. His account of what had happened during the previous year and the school year just gone was confusing, and impressive, and lasted until well into the port and cheese. Harry definitely sounded Marauder-like in his propensity for getting into trouble.

‘I suppose he’s back with his aunt and uncle now?’ Remus asked. ‘And there’s still no way of seeing him?’

‘Yes and no,’ Dumbledore said quietly. ‘He is with his blood relatives, as we still feel he is safest there. But I was rather hoping you might consider a position at Hogwarts.’

Remus almost choked on his wine. ‘A position? As what?’

Dumbledore smiled kindly. ‘I thought that would have been obvious. We badly need a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. You are the perfect candidate. I couldn’t think of anyone better.’

Remus stared at him in disbelief. ‘I would be delighted,’ he heard himself say, before he’d even begun to think it through.

 

Dumbledore was back just a few days later, to discuss details he’d said in his owl, but mainly to discuss the day’s copy of the Daily Prophet, which Albus unfurled on the dining table.

‘I trust you’ve seen this,’ he said. Remus hadn’t.

The multiple murderer Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban.

It was strange seeing that face again, and in that horrible screaming picture, Sirius looking tortured and blatantly insane. Young, also, he realised, they’d been so much younger then.  
There still was a dull ache, one he was used to. He’d not looked at a picture of Sirius in over ten years, they’d all been stored away along with the furniture and things. He daren’t revisit the past, too little of it seemed to make any sense anymore. He’d needed to move on back then, so he’d drawn a line and shut a door.

He would have to brace himself.

* * *

Much later, looking back, it was strange to think that it took less than a year for everything to completely and radically change.

His first day at Hogwarts was right after the full moon. Remus slept on the train, and was surprised to suddenly find himself warding off a dementor, and for none other than Harry Potter.

Teaching Harry was a joy, even if it took some getting used to. He was bright, and kind, and as courageous as any true Gryffindor. Remus felt proud of him. More than anything he enjoyed finally being able to spend time with him, and was glad they got on so well.

But naturally Harry, as well as several old faces on the staff, and the castle itself, triggered many long-buried memories. He kept finding himself ambushed by sudden recollections. Each memory replayed in his mind so vividly, it felt as if he were reliving the very moment.

The place they used to wait for Filch. That way down to the kitchens. Their old corner of the Great Hall. The best route for pinching illegal potions supplies. Severe Quidditch accident. That’s how Lily used to smile. The look James had when he was intrigued. Behind that statue, Sirius had first -

Remus quickly learned to view these things at a distance, like through a thick pane of glass, so they wouldn’t stir up a fresh wave of melancholy and regret. 

Then he found the map. He hadn’t told Harry about the Marauders. It had never seemed quite right to bring it up, and anyway he wasn’t sure exactly what to say. Holding the map again was a shock. But it was also strangely exciting. He studied it at length and very carefully.

And it revealed Peter Pettigrew.

As he worked out what really must have happened all those years ago, his elation mixed with horror, and rage. The cold calculating cruelty. They’d routinely underestimated Peter, Remus had often thought so. But never would he have imagined him capable of anything as downright evil as this. Of course, he’d not believed it of Sirius either, and he was eternally grateful that he’d been proven right.

He must find them, at once, and make sure justice was done.

And soon after, he was in the Shack, eye to eye with the Peter, the rat. And with Sirius. Or rather, with what was left of Sirius.

There was no time for niceties. They quickly embraced, like friends who’d only seen each other recently. Then they got down to the business of unmasking the traitor.

Later, he cursed himself for not remembering to take the Wolfsbane. They’d let the rat get away, he’d endangered the students, and he never got another chance to talk to Sirius, whose haggard face still haunted him. Those hollow eyes, crazed with the desire to kill.

But Sirius had survived. Twelve long years of wrongful imprisonment, surrounded by lunatics and dementors in the hell hole that was Azkaban - it was too horrific to contemplate. And he'd escaped the Dementor's Kiss, thanks to Harry and his friends. Wherever he'd escaped to, Remus hoped desperately Sirius would not be found.

Things at Hogwarts had unravelled. Remus stayed in London for a while, went on a few missions for Dumbledore. Eventually he returned to the cottage by the sea.

He didn’t see Sirius again.

Until on a blustery day, he suddenly appeared.


	2. Chapter 2

There had been two notes, hurried and impersonal, not even hinting at their author’s whereabouts. Obeying orders, the second one said, hope all is well. See you soon, P.

Remus had been delighted to receive each sign of life, but stifled any wishful thinking. He knew what the ‘orders’ were, Dumbledore had talked to him about it. While so far Sirius had managed to evade capture, who knew how much longer he’d be able to. And as the days stretched into weeks since that last missive, he almost stopped expecting him to turn up at all.

And then he did. A ferocious wind was blowing in from the sea, bending trees and shrubs, rippling the long grass into furious waves. Remus returned to the cottage carrying an axe and two sacks of firewood, breathless against the storm, his coat billowing around him. His heart lurched as soon as he spotted a dark shape on the old bench by the front door. Then he recognised the shape, and his heart lurched again.

He approached feeling both relief and dread. It was strange that he still would have known that silhouette anywhere, that he could feel in his bones how much he’d been longing to see it. Like a memory from a past life, the big black dog had materialised, suddenly making those long abandoned years painfully real.

Padfoot sat and waited. When Remus reached the low stone wall surrounding the cottage garden, the dog jumped off the bench and ran towards him, limping slightly. Remus dropped what he was carrying, and welcomed his friend with open arms. He ruffled the matted fur, couldn’t help himself and embraced the large beast, patting his shaggy back, stroking his head, pressing his face against the dark pelt with a deep sigh.

‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ he said.

The dog licked his hands and made a deep growling sound. A new gust of wind chucked twigs and bits of bark at them from the apple tree.

‘Let’s get inside.’

Remus picked up the firewood and the old axe, and carefully adjusted the wards on the door so they’d let Padfoot in. He kept having to glance at the dog to make sure he was really there. The dog seemed to be grinning.

‘Come on in, then.’

 

Inside, the cottage seemed very still, even with the wind whistling outside and rattling the old sash windows. Remus led them into the living room. He dropped the logs near the fireplace, leaned the axe against the wall. The dog had followed him into the room silently and just stood there, dumbfounded. He was staring at the furniture. Remus understood.

‘Strange, isn’t it.’ he said quietly.

Padfoot shot him a look, then walked across the rug and sniffed a chair, a bookcase, some books on the floor, the faded blue sofa.

‘I know,’ Remus said, with a small smile. ‘Been away myself. I’m not really used to them either.’

The dog looked at him again, earnestly somehow, Remus couldn’t quite tell what it meant. ‘Let me get us some tea,’ he said brightly, ‘and get you some food.’

Padfoot followed him into the kitchen, staying close to his legs, then returned into the living room. When Remus came back in, carrying tea things and bread and cheese and some cured meats, it was Sirius sitting on the blue sofa.

The tray wobbled only slightly, the crockery clattered. Sirius sat very straight, with his hands in his lap, smiling self-consciously.

‘Hello.’

‘Hi.’ Remus set the things down on a small table, and smiled back.

He’d been so afraid of this moment, but Sirius was in much better shape than he’d expected, no longer the crazed skeleton of a man he’d seen that night in the Shrieking Shack. He was still painfully thin, dirty and worn out from the road, but Sirius’ eyes were clear, his face not nearly as haggard and drawn.

There was too much to say, nowhere to begin.

‘Have you been waiting long?’ Remus tried.

Sirius shook his head.

‘I wasn’t sure when you’d arrive. Dumbledore just said… help yourself, by the way.’ Remus indicated the tray of food.

‘Thank you.’ Sirius croaked, his voice cracked and gravelly from disuse. He reached for a hunk of bread, a large piece of cheese, and did his best not to wolf them down, while Remus poured the tea.

With a flick of his wand, Remus got some of the fresh logs to stack themselves into the fireplace and whoosh into flame. Sirius watched him silently, while making short work of the dried sausage and ham. The fire crackled and fizzed, outside the wind was still howling and shaking the window panes. Remus sipped his tea.

‘So, how are you?’ he ventured. ‘Where did you come from?’

He didn’t want to rush his friend, or demand too much. The man was obviously beyond exhaustion, riddled with cuts and bruises or worse, and possibly Padfoot’s parasites. He’d want a square meal and a bath and a bed. They could always talk later.

Sirius just shrugged carelessly. He drained his cup, swallowed and cleared his throat.

‘Never thought I’d see this old thing again,’ he said huskily, patting the blue silk with a small grin. ‘Assumed you would’ve cursed it. Or burnt it.’

‘Yeah,’ Remus said quietly, feeling a lump form in his throat. ‘I couldn’t.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Couldn’t do anything much. Just- just put it all into storage.’

Sirius nodded as he polished off the last of the cheese. Their eyes met. ‘I’m sorry.’ He said then. He said it simply, his voice a low rasp, his grey eyes dark and earnest.

‘I’m sorry, too, Sirius.’ Remus drank some more tea. Sitting here together, he felt strangely warm and light, as if a huge load had been lifted, yet in his chest there was a chunk of lead trying to choke him.

‘I never did believe it either, you know.’ He added slowly. ‘For all those years. I suppose I got used to the idea, somehow. That it was true, what they said had happened. But I could never believe it, not really.’

They held each other’s gaze. Remus realised they were trying to find one another, looking for traces of the people they had been, for trails and inroads that would lead them back to the present. But everything had been broken and not quite mended. By now they might well have warped too much to really fit together anymore.

A log split in the fire with a resounding crack.

‘What’s it been like?’ Remus asked, although he could imagine and dreaded the answer.

‘Unpleasant. With sunny intervals. Nice to be out, fresh air, open sky, running wild.' Sirius spoke slowly, deliberately, like someone out of practice. 'Lonely, too. Cold, sometimes. Ended up in some very beautiful spots. Some desolate ones, some terrible. But anywhere is fine, anywhere’s better than… you know.’ He shook his head as if to banish the thought.

Remus watched his friend’s face. It was lined now, too angular, vaguely haunted, but still as expressive, as handsome as ever.

‘Dumbledore's looked me up a few times,’ Sirius continued after a pause, ‘told me things. Recent history. About you lot, Harry, and the others, what’s been going on. He's been helping me - sort myself out. Get my thoughts in order.’ He made the gesture of having a screw loose. ‘Being Padfoot helped, but Azkaban has that effect, you know. Sent me round the bend. Still not quite right, I think. Getting there.’

‘Yes, I see.’ Remus said. ‘I’m very glad you’re better. Don’t be too hard on yourself.’ He examined the scattering of tea leaves at the bottom of his cup. ‘After all, you’ve always been a bit mental. And, well, a bit of a bender.’

Sirius chuckled hoarsely. They both seemed relieved.

‘Speak for yourself. But I s’ppose you’re right,’ Sirius sighed and stifled a yawn.

‘Would you like some more food? I’ll run you a bath, you must be knackered.’

‘Oh, Moony. I would love a bath. I’m not keeping you, am I? What do you - if you had plans later -’

‘Not at all. Don’t worry. I’ve got a few days off. No plans that can’t wait.’

He picked up his wand, sent the tea tray back into the kitchen, then directed a flick-flick-swish towards the bathroom where taps squeaked, pipes rumbled, and the tub began to fill.

‘I’ll get you a towel, and some clothes. Do you need anything else?’

‘Actually, there is one thing.’ he looked a bit sheepish. ‘It’s just, I’ve got a few injuries I can’t seem to put right. I was wondering, if -’

‘Yes, of course.’

 

Remus would have expected this to be awkward, but it wasn’t. It just felt very familiar.

They stood in the small bathroom. Outside, the wind was still making a racket, now pelting rain against the window in irregular gusts.

Sirius revealed his ailments very hesitantly. There was a badly healed broken ankle, an infected dog bite near his shoulder blade, a deep cut on his arm, and bits of thorns and splinters between his fingers, under his toes. He seemed shy and reluctant to expose any part of his bony physique.

Remus tried to reassure him as he bathed and examined the wounds, and commented with surprise and interest on the various marks and symbols he encountered, scars and tattoos Sirius had collected over the years. Sirius quickly changed the subject.

‘What are you up to these days, then?’ he asked, wincing as Remus applied an ointment to the bite.

Remus pointed his wand and held his breath as the edges of the bite slowly pulled together.

‘Work from here, most of the time. Articles for certain journals, you know, essays, papers. The odd lecture.’

‘Professor Lupin, eh,’ Sirius nodded, and a teasing grin stole onto his face, a grin Remus knew so well it ached.

‘Under a pseudonym of course.’ Remus added quickly. ‘And lectures for other people to hold. You know, the kind of thing a werewolf can get.’

‘Sounds all right. Better than killing vermin, or weeding those awful noxious gardens… or remember that haunted bookshop you worked in for a couple of months?’

Remus was stunned. He’d forgotten all about that. ‘Careful, this next bit is going to hurt. Hold still, just for a second.’

He dealt with the cut swiftly.

Sirius didn’t so much as flinch. ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly, then tugged at his shirt to cover himself.

Remus touched his arm. ‘It’s all right, you know. I look just as bad, remember.’

 

While Sirius soaked in the bath, Remus remembered the bottle of firewhisky he’d got for this occasion. He’d bought it as soon as he knew Sirius would be coming, and had drunk most of it in the weeks since then, waiting for him to arrive.

He poured them a glass each. At length, Sirius emerged, washed and shaved, smelling faintly of toothpaste and soap, and sporting one of Remus’ pyjamas which looked huge on his scrawny frame.

He accepted the whisky with undisguised awe, took a sip and held his glass like a precious gift.

‘I’m afraid there’s only one bed,’ Remus explained. ‘But it’s massive. There’s easily room enough for three.’

Sirius looked at him in alarm. ‘I can sleep on the sofa.’

‘Well, the thing is,’ Remus said uncomfortably, ‘I’d rather you didn’t. It's not as safe. And there are too many windows, you could be seen.’

'I could be seen now.'

'Yes. But I'd know. They couldn't do anything, I'd get them first.'

Sirius raised his eyebrows. ‘Do people pass by here much?’ He carefully took another sip, reverently savouring every drop.

‘Sometimes. At odd hours. I think I might be generally kept an eye on.’

Sirius nodded. He still looked worried. ‘I could always sleep as Padfoot…’ he paused. ‘A real bed would be wonderful.’

‘That’s settled then.’

‘Only I’ve not shared a room with anyone in a very long time. I stir in my sleep. Scream, too, I think. Still get nightmares.’

‘Sleep in whichever form you prefer, as long as you get a good night’s rest. And don’t worry, I won’t mind if you stir. Or scream.’

Sirius drained his glass. ‘I might turn in, then, if that’s all right,’ he said quietly. ‘Thank you, Remus.’

‘It’s a pleasure,’ Remus said, and meant it.

He showed him into the bedroom, which was sparse, except for a truly humungous, old fashioned bed. He’d often wondered whether it was charmed, since he usually slept exceptionally well in it. Maybe Sirius would, too. He’d also pondered whether to split it in two when Sirius arrived, but didn’t have the heart to do it. In the confined space even two separate beds would have to stand side by side anyway. It might be awkward, but it would have to do.

The ancient walls were thick, and heavily warded. Behind a faded pink curtain there was just one small window, which Remus had permanently obscured from the outside, making it as good as invisible to casual passers-by. Strong magic reinforced the shutters, too. It was the safest room in the house, Remus wouldn’t let either of them sleep anywhere else.

Hopefully it wouldn’t remind Sirius of a cell, he thought as he cleaned his teeth. Outside, the wind was still blowing as wildly as ever. He walked around the cottage, switching off lights, checking the protective spells were in place. They must be careful. He’d been picking up a few things lately, strangers watching, figures appearing on a nearby cliff.

When he returned, Sirius was already in bed. He had his back to the wall and kept his limbs close to his body, taking up very little space. Remus got in next to him, avoiding any sudden movements. He plumped his pillow, lay down with a little smile. Sirius remained motionless, observing him silently. Remus picked up a book from his nightstand, put it back, found the right one on the floor next to the bed. 

‘Shall I read to you?’ 

But the other man was already sound asleep.

Remus woke up twice that night, and couldn’t quite tell why. There was ragged breathing next to him, a sound that made his heart leap, first with fear and then delight. But the breathing was uneven, and mingled with stifled yelps and moans. Bad dreams and painful memories plagued his friend, the details of which Remus was afraid to imagine. He was unsure what to do, not wanting to disturb Sirius unnecessarily. In the end he tried a calming spell, which did seem to take the edge off.

When he woke at the crack of dawn, he found they had each strictly stuck to their side of the bed, with a gulf of no-man’s land between them. Sirius was still asleep, silently now. His face looked peaceful, pale and emaciated, like the rest of him, but he seemed almost at ease.  Remus reached across to touch the hand resting near the shaggy head. He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t crowd his friend, he wouldn’t force either of them to categorise any emotions. He just couldn’t resist.

The hand recoiled at his touch, and Sirius awoke with a jolt. He stared, then relaxed, sinking back onto his pillow with a small relieved smile. ‘Oh, ‘s you, Moons...’ he mumbled. His hand reappeared, grasped Remus’, and gave it a squeeze, as he drifted off again.

Remus swallowed hard. He wanted this man back so badly, it scared him. He’d locked away his own feelings or desires over a decade ago, had kept his private self secure behind strong defenses. He’d been unshakeable, resolute, always level headed.

The reappearance of his old friend had laid him bare, made him vulnerable in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

And he recognised that deep physical ache, the old longing for something he couldn’t have. Something that perhaps by now he’d lost forever.

He closed his eyes and focused on the touch of the fingers still holding his own, the feel of the warm, calloused skin, and fell asleep again.


	3. Chapter 3

Sirius eventually surfaced in the late afternoon.  
Remus had long reapparated from a brief visit to the nearest Wizarding village of Little Moanford, and was working at his desk in the living room when he heard the pipes rumble in the bathroom.  
Then Sirius appeared, looking dishevelled and confused. ‘Morning,’ he yawned, leaning in the doorway.

‘Hello, Sirius.’ Remus smiled at him. ‘Did you sleep all right?’

Sirius nodded dreamily. ‘Like a baby. What are you up to?’

‘Nothing exciting, just a bit of work.’

‘Oh.’ Sirius padded over to the desk, wearing an intrigued frown. Sleep had done him good, he looked much refreshed, and years younger. With a smooth motion he picked up Remus’ wand.  
Remus felt just a flicker of panic, and then a wave of shame at his reaction.

Sirius weighed the wand in his hand, examining it wistfully. ‘Cypress and unicorn hair,’ he murmured.

‘Yes.’ Remus said. ‘Same old.’

‘May I?’

‘Please, by all means.’

Sirius gave it an experimental wave. ‘Accio coffee!’

A bag of ground coffee came flying from the kitchen, and Sirius grinned happily. ‘See, still got it.’  
He paused, rubbing his forehead, then tried a combination of elaborate flicks. The hovering bag of coffee made its way back into the kitchen, from where clattering could now be heard, and the sound of running water.

‘Doing the dishes, are you?’ Remus asked with a smile. His wand had always obeyed Sirius very easily. He remembered Sirius’ old wand, which hadn’t been as precise, but powerful, impulsive. They had used each other’s wands a lot back then, grabbing whichever was nearest, especially in tricky situations. While carrying out dangerous and complicated missions, or before that, at school, when working tricky impromptu pranks. Or in their dormitory, in the dark. And then at any time of day in their own flat, in the heat of the moment…

A full steaming mug of coffee sailed towards them, not spilling a drop. Sirius put the wand down and plucked the mug out of the air, smiling triumphantly.

‘We’ll need to get you a wand,’ Remus said. ‘Let me think, I’m sure we’ll be able to find you one somewhere.’

‘I've got one, actually. Don’t like to use it though, think it might be traced. And it’s useless anyway, backfires a lot. Must have belonged to an idiot. Nothing like -’ he nodded towards Remus’ wand on the desk and took a sip of his coffee.

‘Right.’ Remus smiled. ‘Well, we’ll sort something out.’

 

Sirius watched as Remus cooked them a large fry up. He seemed to take a marked pleasure in the smallest everyday things, and although Remus was glad to see him enjoying them it was also a stark reminder of how much his friend had been deprived of, and for how long. 

After their hearty meal they apparated to a remote beach, a little cove Remus visited sometimes to clear his head. It was secluded and very peaceful, he'd found it by accident and never seen another human being there. The Atlantic roared, dark and brooding in the misty light, it foamed and churned and splashed around various large and mysterious rock formations.  
Having sidelong apparated, Sirius let go of his arm as soon as they arrived on the beach, and they walked at a distance through the heavy sand. 

Remus relished the other man's presence. Sirius was oddly restrained, bordering on shy, and quieter than he'd ever been.  
But their silences didn't feel uncomfortable.  
They talked a little, still getting used to each other, noticing gestures and expressions. Taking in the new, remembering the familiar. Their conversation dealt with simple things of the here and now.  
Remus explained what he knew of the rocks, of nearby landmarks, ragged ruins of early medieval castles.  
Of how wild the weather could get here, how sometimes lost sheep fell off the cliffs.

When they came to a group of large boulders, Sirius stopped, found himself a flat bit of rock and slowly sat down. Remus stood nearby. They looked out at the crashing waves.

'I'd half expected you to be in the water by now,' Remus said with a smile. 'Out in the current, chasing the waves...'

Sirius nodded, reached into his jacket pocket - Remus' jacket, really - and retrieved the small pouch of tobacco they were sharing.  
'Yeah. It is quite tempting.'

With clumsy and unsteady fingers he proceeded to roll a cigarette. He took his time, completing each step very carefully. The stiff breeze blowing in from the sea didn't help matters.

'Reckon I'd better stay human for a while, though. Before I forget how.'  
He flashed Remus the briefest grin and licked the edge of the paper.

Placing the finished roll-up between his lips and guarding it with an open hand he wandlessly lit the end. He closed his eyes as he took a deep drag.  
'Merlin I've missed this,' he sighed contentedly. 

Remus wasn't sure whether he meant the sea, or the smoke, or the company. Probably all of it, he didn't ask.

'Did you really stay a dog the entire time?'

'Had to, didn't I. Safer, and - you know, easier. Got more sleep. Easier to find a meal, too.' 

Remus shuddered to think. Sirius took another deep drag.  
'Had two lucky escapes that way, overheard death eaters talking.'

'Where? Who were they?' Remus asked, but Sirius shook his head.

'Don't know who. Random places. A village green somewhere, ages ago... And on the way to Hogwarts. Since Hogwarts I've been keeping out of sight completely. Now that -' he bared his teeth, '- the rat - is out there again they might know to look for a black dog.'

'Yes, they might.' 

There was a pause.

'Still wish we had killed him, you know. That night, Remus. You and I. Eliminated him like the vermin he is. I can't believe we actually...' Shaking his head he took a deep breath.

'I know.'

'It's really what's kept me alive all those years. Possessed by hatred I was. Like - a seething poison, boiling away. A ravenous tumor. I just kept seeing -' Sirius' voice was cracking, he cleared his throat.

After a while he continued. 'Albus tried to help me let it go. I want to. Harry was right. But - I'm not sure that I can. In dreams I still -' he broke off.  
Remus nodded silently and watched him drag hard on the cigarette, watched him holding on to the damp roll-up with trembling fingers, grey eyes fixed on the horizon.

Eventually Sirius spoke again. 'He's taken - he's taken everything from us, Remus. He took James, and Lily. He's damaged your life, and he's ruined me. He broke us apart, what you and I had. He killed our friends, hoping to kill me too, made you believe the worst. And he did all of it on purpose, he'd made a plan and - and - followed it, as though we were -' he made a noise that sounded like a sob, dry and harsh and painful.

Remus stepped closer and put a hand on the shaking, bony shoulder.  
'Yes,' he said quietly, 'But we're still here.'

Sirius shook his head again, rapidly wiping away his tears of anger and frustration, but more tears kept coming. 'Are we!?' he asked. 

Remus moved closer still, he came to sit on the rock next to his friend and drew him into an awkward hug. Trying to encourage Sirius to let it all out, he patted his shaking back, lightly rubbed his shoulders.

'We're still here,' he repeated when his friend's breathing eased. He couldn't say anything more.  
Their proximity was confusing, this angular version of the body he'd known so well, the curves and planes and general shape of which he'd been deprived of for what felt like a lifetime. This was unmistakeably Sirius in his arms, with his scent and his skin and his hair. He'd longed for this moment, desperately longed for it, but now he was unsure what to do. 

He felt stiff and awkward, which Sirius seemed to notice. They both began to pull back, though Remus wasn't quite willing to let go of him yet, and Sirius gave him that wide eyed searching look - that look. It took Remus back fifteen years and made him smile involuntarily. He gently touched his friend's face, Sirius staring back at him, his lips slightly parted. When they kissed it was slow and gentle, and it got Remus all choked up, he needed several deep breaths before they kissed again. 

They got up after what could have been a few minutes or an hour. Remus felt dizzy, drugged almost, by the touch of rough lips and sandpapery stubble, the soft mouth, warm and smoky, opening up against his own, their tongues sliding together. Sirius' hands on his shoulders, their initial shyness gradually dissolving. 

Stiff from the chilly breeze, the ocean roaring in their ears, they walked along the beach for a few paces. Then they apparated home.


End file.
